graphic shirts and pleated skirts
by BeccabooO1O
Summary: Stiles woke up to the sound of his alarm clock's incessant beeping. He blindly reached over and grabbed the machine, throwing it against the bedroom wall.
_AN: If you're procrastination finals and you know it, clap your hands._

 _So, I'm trash and I haven't posted anything in a long time - I know, it's terrible. And I really do feel bad about it, trust me. Calculus has been kicking my ass all semester and that - and my job - has taken up most of my time, to be honest. But I'm here now with a hella long one-shot that's been in my WIP's since the beginning of time._

* * *

I

The first time he saw her, it was the summer before Sophomore year - before everything happened.

He was at the library, having been told by the Sheriff to leave his room and enlighten himself - whatever that meant.

So, for some unholy reason completely unknown to him, he picked up Scott and drove the two to the local library.

His dad wouldn't really let him go to the police station and spend the day there, anyways.

Stiles was perusing the miscellaneous book shelves - bored out of his mind - when he heard a giggle from a few rows over. He walked past a couple aisles and then moved a couple of books so that he could peek through the shelves to find where the light laughter was coming from.

He saw a girl around his age reaching around for various books. Even though he could only seen her back, he thought she was one of the most beautiful things that he had ever seen - except for Lydia, of course. He watched as she set each volume down on the table carefully - as if each one was a national treasure. There was a little girl by her side, tugging on the book grabber's shirt hem and pointing at what books she wanted.

It was the little girl giggling as she opened up the books on the table and stared at the pictured in mesmerization.

"That story's about Beauty and the Beast." The teenager announced softly as she placed the last book on the wooden table.

"Is that the one with the dancing tea cups?" The little girl asked in an excited whisper.

"Of course." The teenager smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I could read some of it to you if you want." She offered softly.

"Yes, please!" The little girl jumped up and exclaimed.

"But we have to stay quiet. We don't want Ms. Torquern to catch us, right?"

"Right." The little girl agreed in a stage whisper before dissolving into a fit of giggles. The girl paused long enough to request, "Read the dance scene, please." before giggling again.

"You've got it." The teenager laughed quietly before starting to read from the page.

Stiles stayed there, listening to the beautiful girl's voice. He just couldn't move away - even if he had wanted to .

And the thought of the unknown teenagers' skirt riding up her thighs wasn't even at the front lines of his mind.

Which was saying something since the Stilinski boy was always thinking about girls - like Lydia.

Stiles was right in assuming that she was beautiful. Her eyes scanned the page and her fingers trailed under the words, letting the little girl follow along with her as she read about the ball.

Stiles barely even noticed a young couple - probably the little girl's parents - sitting down by their child as the girl finished the story.

When she did finish, he watched as she looked up and - from the surprise to new listeners - blushed, closing the book in her hands.

"Mommy, Mommy!" The little girl piped up, practically climbing onto the wooden table in excitement. "Can we get some princess books? Can we?"

"Sure, honey." The young woman smiled at the teenager as she got up from the table.

"They're all yours." She laughed as the little girl tried grabbing the rather large stack of stories.

"Daddy, help me!" The little girl insisted.

The man in demand chuckled before taking a smaller portion of the books and following his wife and daughter presumably to the checkout area of the library.

Stiles watched as the remaining girl started to put the books that had been left behind back in their rightful places across the shelves. This time he did notice the pleated skirt revealing more and more skin as she reached up to slide each book into place.

The Stilinski imagined himself rounding the corner into her aisle, picking up one of the books, and smoothly introducing himself as he leans up to help her return the books.

He had to hold back a snort.

Yeah, as if he could ever do that.

He was pulled from his self-degrading thoughts when the girl turned around. He focused onto the surroundings and realized that the little girl from before was clinging onto the teenager's legs, burying her small face into the fabric of the pleated skirt.

God, that skirt was killing him.

Stiles jumped at least a couple feet in the air when someone touched his shoulder.

He turned around and there was Scott, a sheepish yet smug smile tugging at his lips - how it was possible for one smile to be both those things, Stiles would never know - and the Stilinski pretended to be rifling through the shelf for something to read. All that he really saw were books about werewolves.

As if that would ever help him.

"My mom called, asking if you wanted to come over for supper tonight, since your dad's working late again." He announced quietly.

"Sure." Stiles agreed. "Let's get out of here." The two boys left the library, stiles unable to get the mysterious girl int he skirt out of his mind.

* * *

II

"Are you being serious right now?" Scott asked hysterically.

Stiles looked at his best friend in disbelief. Could he be any more oblivious? "Of course I'm being serious right now! Why-"

"Can I sit with you guys?" Stiles jumped at the sound of the newcomer's voice. His eyes snapped up and saw _her_ . The library girl. And she was looking at them in a nervous panic. "Please?" She added, biting her lip and sending Stiles' mind into a frenzy.

Was he dreaming? What other explanation could there be for this seemingly otherworldly girl coming to them - of all people - for companionship when she belonged with the more popular crowd. She belonged next to Lydia Martin - ahh, Lydia - and Jackson Whittemore, not with a _former_ asthmatic and a nervous spaz.

It just didn't make any sense.

At all.

Scott looked at his friend before returning his gaze back to her. "Pick a seat." He offered, smiling as she set her lunch tray and sat down across from the two - with her back towards Lydia's table.

 _Interesting_. Stiles pondered as he brought himself out of his mind and back to the real world.

"Thanks." She smiled at the two before looking down at her lunch. After a few seconds, her head snapped back up to the two boys, as if she had forgotten to let her dog back in before she left for school. She said a name. They just gave her confused faces. "That's me. Uh, my name." She explained further, sighing in exasperation.

"Oh yeah," Stiles started, his mind scrambling for something else to say to her. "I knew that." Did he sound casual? He hoped he did. Stiles did not want to make the first real impression with this girl to become awkward or - god forbid - creepy. She'd never talk to him again and he'd be even further away from his five-year plan with Lydia.

But wait, did he sound _too_ casual?

Scott - trying to keep up the conversation, if you could even call it that, while Stiles was having a small existential crisis added, "I'm-"

"Scott McCall." She finished for him. "And Stiles Stilinski." She added, looking toward the teenager in question.

"Wha-"

"Harris despises you. And we have Chem class together." She explained.

How had he not seen her earlier that day?

She turned her head to Scott and his still confused face. "Going from bench to starting line in the span of a summer tends to make people notice." She expounded matter-of-factly. "Congrats, by the way."

The werewolf - because Stiles was sure that's what he was - rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, that does make sense."

She laughed softly at his slight embarrassment. "To be honest, it's great to watch Jackson fall from his high horse. Having to listen to him gloat about how he's carried Beacon Hills lacrosse for a whole three months would make anyone want to knock him down a peg or two."

"Aren't you friends with Lydia?" Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself.

She looked over at him in bewilderment. Why was she wearing that expression? "Yeah," She affirmed. "That doesn't mean I have to fawn over Whittemore like everyone else, though." She looked him over - suddenly suspicious. "Why?"

"Just wondering what you're doing here," Stiles answered truthfully, looking over her shoulder. "When there's an empty spot at Lydia's table." She followed his gaze and sure enough, there it was. A vacant seat was at the lunch table - between Allison Argent and Lydia.

Scott and Stiles' guest ducked her head and turned back. "Change of scenery." She answered flippantly, trying to dismiss the question with a shrug.

Now who was acting too casual?

"Does it have anything to do with the way Greenberg is staring at you right now?"

"There's always that possibility." She muttered to her food. "And besides," She looked up at the two of them in accusation. "It wouldn't be one if someone hadn't mentioned anything and drawn attention to their table."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Doesn't matter." Stiles raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Fine. Lydia has been trying to set me up with Greenberg for her party this weekend and I don't really even want to go but I'd feel bad for telling her no and then refusing Greenberg so I'm avoiding both of them for lunch in hopes that she'll find some other poor girl to push Greenberg onto, okay? Happy now?" She took a deep breath at the end of her hurried answer.

How could she say all that in one breath?

"Then I guess you're free to stay." Scott was amused with her explanation.

"Yea-yeah. Stay as long as you want!" Stiles said a bit too loudly. To be honest, he kind of lost all train of normal thought as soon as she mentioned Lydia's name.

"Thanks." She smiled, looking back at Lydia's table before quickly whipping her head to Scott and Stiles. Lydia had her bright eyes pinned on the girl the whole time. "I wonder how long I can actually avoid her, though." She chuckled before continuing on with her food.

 _This could be a good thing._

* * *

III

"I can't look at this anymore!" She threw her hands up, a contradictory gesture from her laid back position against her closed locker.

Scott and Stiles were standing next to her, watching the awkward at best scene start to play out from across the hallway.

Allison had closed her locker just in time to come face to face with Matt Daehler. And this guys was just not leaving the poor girl alone - even after she had noticeably distanced herself away from him.

"He does realize that the whole key to taking undoubtedly unsolicited photos of someone is the simple concept of subtility, right?" She asked rhetorically.

Stiles answered anyway. "Nah, I personally think hers doing great!"

"I really hope to God you're being sarcastic right now, Stilinski." She deadpanned, looking at his overly-excited face with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you two stop?" Scott interrupted. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Yeah, because you can hear the two from all the way over here." She scoffed, rolling her bright eyes.

She still didn't know about the whole 'werewolf' thing.

And, apparently, that's how Stiles wanted it to stay. The Sheriff's son wanted to keep at least one thing in his life normal - which was somewhat understandable due to the problems that now there was a kanima and three untrained new betas running around Beacon Hills. And he hasn't even touched the mess that was going on with Lydia Martin at the moment, either.

Scott was all for telling her when Lydia had disappeared during her hospital trip after the formal - what, with the two being close friends and all. But Stiles had completely disagreed with him, arguing that the less she knew, the more protection she'd have from the supernatural.

Which was something the werewolf didn't understand.

Both boys knew she'd do what she wanted - with or without the boys' permission.

Like now.

Now she was making a determined beeline across the hallway for Allison and Matt. Stiles reached a hand out, but he wasn't quick enough to stop her.

"Oh, come on!" Stiles exclaimed in slight irritation as he watched her go. _"Why_ do you have to do this?" He turned to Scott. "Why does she have to do this?" He pleaded.

"Stiles!" Scott snapped at his friend. "I'm trying to listen."

He focused on the conversation on the other side of the hall, ignoring Stiles as best as his abilities would allow.

" _Hey Allison,_ " The newcomer started as soon as she reached the two. " _The warning bell's gonna ring any second._ " She was completely ignoring Matt. " _I'd really rather get there before have to explain again why I'm late for the all-important class of Algebra and Trigonometry._ "

" _Then maybe you should go._ " Matt piped up. She turned to look at him, giving his form a once over as if he were a mere child.

Harsh.

And that was before anything had actually had the potential of happening.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked.

"Not now." Scott dismissed.

" _Not without Allison._ " She almost snarled out. " _Our teacher can be a real stickler when it comes to punctuality._ " Her voice was able to keep the disgust hidden that Scott was able to detect.

" _I can walk her._ " Matt offered, trying to throw his arm around Allison's shoulder.

Something the Argent was able to deflect easily.

" _But then you're be late for your class._ " Their friend pouted . " _And I wouldn't want for you to be unable to develop all those f lagrantly taken picture of my friends._ " She tilted her head to the side in mock-empathy. " _Now that would really suck._ "

" _I have no idea what you're talking about._ " He spoke through gritted teeth.

Scott could see her eyes narrow at that. " _I highly doubt that._ " And then she snatched the camera out of the guy's hands.

Scott watched in shock as Allison's eyes widened with the discovery of each new photograph.

" _Wow_ , " The girl said. " _Nice resolution on these. He even caught each individual hair on your eyebrows._ " She looked back up at Matt. " _Be a shame if something happened to them, you know?_ "

" _Excuse me?_ " He asked before yanking the equipment back.

Allison said her name. " _Come one, let's just go._ " The Argent announced, trying to pull the other girl with her down the hallway.

But the girl in question dug her heeled boots into the tiled floor and gave Matt the harshest death stare Scott had ever seen in his life. It looked dangerous to even be over there.

"C'mon, man." He heard Stiles from next to him. "Don't leave me hanging here!"

"Just wait."

" _Excuse you? No excuse me._ " She gestured toward herself and Allison. " _Look, it's bad enough that you're obviously snapping photos without Allison's consent- I mean, really, across the street from her house? - but the fact that you're invading her privacy shortly after her aunt dies, when she's still vulnerable?_ " She tilted her head to the side. " _That's not only obsessive, but very rude, too. And I hope that you're ashamed of yourself._ "

And then the warning bell, like a godsend for anyone in the vicinity, rang throughout the school.

She joined Allison a couple feet back and the two started to make their way to class.

She turned her head towards Matt. " _Maybe you should stick to sports shots, huh?_ " And then she was gone in a flurry of skirt.

People were left to stare in her wake as she passed them in her clicking boots, Allison at her side. Stiles was infact one of those people - but Scott had noticed the Stilinski was starting to do that a lot when around her, if you asked the werewolf - and the other was Matt, who was seething at her with a tight grip on his camera, making his knuckles turn white.

Scott relayed the bulk of the conversation to Stiles. He reacted in his usual twitchy fashion before Scott accidentally tuned into Allison again instead of Stiles.

" _Thanks for doing that._ " her voice rang out.

" _That's what I'm here for._ " Came the confident answer from the only one in the group - other than Lydia - to not know about the reality of werewolves and other supernatural phenomena. " _You don't think I was too harsh on him, do you? I just saw those photos and-_ " He could hear her let out a shiver.

" _No_. " Allison laughed. " _Just_ , " She stopped herself momentarily. " _Just be careful_. "

" _Aren't I always?_ " Came the easy reply.

Scott found himself agreeing with the Argent. Their friend would have to be careful if she wanted to survive without being let in on the big secret.

* * *

Stiles got out of the Jeep later that night, trailing behind the Sheriff to the scene after another dispatched-in animal attack.

And that's when he saw her, wrapped in one of those bright orange shock blankets and sitting on the back of an ambulance. She was looking up and talking to one of the police officers.

His dad, actually.

Stiles stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened. She looked so _broken_. as she sat there - a complete opposite to how he had seen her a couple hours ago at the end of the school day. Even from all the way beside his Jeep, he could see the tremor taking over her body.

He had to get to her.

The Stilinski squeezed past various professionals and ducked under some yellow _CAUTION_ tape before reaching his destination. She paused mid-sentence as their eyes met. The Sheriff turned around and sighed in exasperation when he saw his son there.

"Excuse me a minute." He told her before getting up from his crouched position and pulling his son away. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Dad! You know I can never pass up a good ol' mountain lion attack."

"And then where would your partner in crime be?" Sheriff Stilinski asked pointedly.

"Going stag tonight, Daddy-o!" The teenager spread his arms out, showing that no one else was with him. Which was true: Scott was helping Allison who took Lydia out to the mall for some more 'retail therapy' - although it didn't seem to be all that therapeutic for the strawberry blonde anymore.

His father just squinted at him for a long moment before turning away from him. "I don't have time for this." The Sheriff muttered before focusing his attention back to the girl hanging out in the back of the emergency vehicle, her vitals being checked.

The paramedic finished his check-up, nodded affirmatively to the Sheriff, and left the area. Stiles' dad walked back to the vehicle, filling in the space the EMT had just vacated. He placed a hopefully comforting hand on her orange covered shoulder. "Is there anything else you can tell me?" He asked.

"It just-" Her gaze turned distant, pointed toward the alleyway a few yards away. "One second I'm pulling my keys out to unlock my car and the next," She paused, her voice barely above a watery whisper. "The next my car's trapping me against the brick wall, and I'm stuck there hoping that whoever it was wouldn't come over and finish the job or something." She looked back up at the Sheriff. "I know that's probably not much and I'm sorry." Her hands were slightly trembling.

"No, no. That's good. Really good." The Sheriff reassured. "Unfortunately, your car will have to be taken to the station for further investigation, so - since he's here _anyways_ -I'll have Stiles give you a ride home. Alright?"

"Thanks, Sheriff." She gave him a small smile as she timidly lowered herself down from the ambulance. "Goodnight." Her fingers tried to grasp the blanket tightly, but they were shaking too much to really achieve the firm grip she had been going for.

"Night, now." Stiles was about to follow her back to his Jeep, but was stopped by his father. "You and I are going to have a talk about this when I get home."

"Sure thing." Stiles agreed distractedly before speed walking back to his Jeep, trying to catch up. She was already in the passenger seat when he got there, buckled in and hopefully ready to go home.

He got in and started up the car. She jumped slightly, the blanket slipping a little from atop her shoulders. He'd tried to ignore it - her, the whole situation in general - but he couldn't take it any longer.

"You're okay now." Stiles said, trying to get her to meet his eyes.

"I know." She dismissed shortly. "Just take me home, please." She didn't look at him, but chose to stare at her hands instead, watching as she clenched and unclenched her fists.

He did try to coax her to tell him exactly what had happened - without making it too obvious that he was grilling her, trying to find out if it was something supernatural or not - but she became unresponsive after telling him he could just ask his dad later. So he stopped, knowing she'd have to talk about it when she was ready.

The two reached her house and he let her out on her driveway. She opened the door and he blurted out before he could stop himself. "It's going to be okay, you know."

She looked over at him. "And why would that be?"

"Well-uh-well, because you've got me. And I'll never lead you astray." He said, hoping for any response from the girl he had seen earlier that day at school.

"Yeah, okay, Stiles." The words were there, but the meaning behind them wasn't playful, it was different - disbelieving, almost. She left the Jeep, closed the door, and walked up to her front door. She let herself in - after a few tries of getting the key in the lock - and shut the door.

Stiles made sure he saw a light turn on before he left her house.

He was definitely going to have a talk with his dad. And Scott. And Allison. Hell, he'd even bring Derek and his modge podge pack into this.

He knew it wasn't just some random animal attack.

Her hands were still twitching when she left the Jeep.

* * *

She was avoiding them.

She was avoiding him.

She had to be. There was no other explanation as to why she had just walked past Scott before first hour, no other reason why Allison said their friend had been quiet before and during class, and no other way to explain how she just turned herself - and Lydia, who was walking with her - mid stride and walked in the complete opposite direction as soon as she made eye contact with Stiles, dragging the strawberry blonde with her.

She was avoiding them all.

And Stiles didn't know why.

He and Scott walked into Harris's chemistry class. She was already there, her attention away from the boys and instead on getting her textbook out of her bag. Stiles tried to make eye contact - to gauge just what was going on with her.

She never looked up and the two passed her desk silently, Stiles' shoulders slumped with every step.

He sat down at his desk with a plop, pulling out his notebook as Scott slid in the seat next to him.

Harris entered and, after remarking in a dry voice about the burdens of teaching high school, began the day's lecture.

Half of the class passed and Stiles didn't know what to do with himself. His leg was bouncing under the table like crazy, his anxiety manifesting into a physical distraction. Harris couldn't keep his attention - no real surprise there. She still hadn't looked back at him and now Scott was looking at him as if he was about to lose it any minute.

He had to do something.

Stiles called out her name quietly, trying to get her attention without attracting Harris'.

Her shoulders tensed up a little, but there was no other reaction from her.

He was about to try again when Scott put a hand on his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to get her attention."

"Why?"

"Because she's avoiding us and I need to know why." Stiles answered before quietly calling her name again.

And again, nothing really happened.

Fine, he'd just have to try harder then.

He tore a piece of paper from his notebook - it's not like he was really going to use it anyway - and before to form a ball in his clenching fists. Scott was looking at him as if he were crazy. Stiles ignored him and threw the paper ball at her.

At this she turned around. "What the fuck was that?" She whispered, irritation in her voice.

"What the fuck is wrong?" He countered, mentally congratulating himself for such a great response.

"Nothing that really matters."

"Trust me." He tried.

"What, like you trust me?" She asked pointedly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Stilinski," Harris stopped his lecture momentarily. "Why is it that I can hear your voice even when mine is the only one that should be heard?" Stiles was quiet, looking up at the teacher indifferently. "That's what I thought." He turned back to the chalk board.

"'Friends' trust each other. 'Friends' don't blatantly lie to each other, Stiles." He shrunk back in his seat, trying to keep the guilt off his face. "And that's really all you've been doing for a while now."

"But-"

"Now please just leave me alone."

"I-"

" _Please_ , Stiles." Her face looked sad.

"And now the voices have multiplied." Mr. Harris interjected. "If your teen drama is more important than anything covered in this lecture, then maybe you two should take it outside. In the principal's office."

"No, sir." She answered, giving the Stilinski a meaningful glance before turning back to face the front of the class.

"At least one of you feels remorse."

"Look, I-" Stiles tried to defend himself quietly,

"Detention, Stilinski. Please stop distracting my class." The Stilinski sank back into his seat, more confused than he was before class started. There had to be a way to find out wxactly what was wrong. He just had to connect the dots and figure it out.

* * *

Stiles figured out how to fix it Friday afternoon during detention.

He would find her at the library during her morning shift on Saturday and they would talk.

He would tell her everything she wanted to know - even if that meant popping the bubble around her that he had tried so hard to keep up.

Finding her was the easy part.

Talking to her - not so much.

Stiles saw her as soon as he walking in, taking a cart of books with her from one of the side rooms.

But when he went up to her, she dismissed any headway they would have made with a fake 'Can I help you?' and then her index finger would press against her lips when he would start to talk over her.

So he went back to his Jeep.

Stiles Stilinski always had a Plan B.

Or at least, he liked to think that he did.

He grabbed his backpack and walked back into the library, making his way towards one of the tables in the 'Quiet Zone'. If he couldn't go to her, then he'd make her come to him.

And he felt his smirk widen at the somewhat surprised look painted on her face when he slid his slim body onto one of the wooden chairs.

But his mind started to wander when he was about a third of the way into his Chemistry homework that Harris had decided to give him for the weekend - all a part of being the teacher's 'detention project' for the semester. Maybe he'd ask her to help him after they had their inevitable heart-to-heart.

If she would even look at him afterwards, that was.

His leg started to bounce sporadically at the idea of all the things they wouldn't be able to do if she refused to be around him. No more library perks. No more sharing entire large orders of curly fries because she was just as obsessed with them as he was. No more being able to eat most of the M&M's because she only liked the red and blue ones. And no more conversations that didn't somehow end up revolving around werewolves or Allison.

Stiles had to get her back.

"You do realize that the 'Quiet Zone' is for productive work, not _daydreaming_ , young man." He looked up to an old woman scowling down her hooked nose at him.

"If you think about it, daydreaming is technically a productive activity, since I am doing something." Stiles responded.

"Why, if you believe that, then-"

"I've got this, Marge." Stiles looked behind the older woman to see his savior. He grinned when he saw her holding a stack of various books in her arms.

Marge did too. "Very well." She tucked a couple stray white hairs back into her tight bun. "Take care of him." And then she left the two teenagers alone at the desk.

"How long do you plan on staying here not doing the extra work from Harris?" She asked, focusing on the opened Chemistry book as she dropped the books she had been carrying onto the table.

"Until you let me explain myself." He answered, his fingers nervously twirling his pen.

"I'm done in half and hour." She reasoned. "I could go for some food after." She picked up the books. "That is, if you're not too busy being _productive_ ." She smirked down at him.

"I can wait thirty minutes." He agreed. "I'll need something to do." Because he knew he wasn't going to keep torturing himself with this Chemistry work.

She must have known that, too. "Here." She slid a book over to him.

 _Conversation for Dummies._

Just what he needed.

"Really?" He held the book up to her.

"See you in half and hour." She started to talk away, a grin on her face.

"Uh-huh." He set the book down, ready to wait out the time.

He stopped and looked up at her suddenly. "Wait, how'd you know about the extra work?"

"Allison told me last night." Was all she said before disappearing behind a couple bookshelves.

Stiles was actually curious as to how far he could get through this book within the half hour.

* * *

"Look, I know it's hard to believe-"

"I'm relieved that you've grasped that, Stiles. Really, I am."

"-but you have to believe me!" The Stilinski finished.

She was quiet for a moment. "How long?"

"'How long' what?" Could she be any more cryptic?

"How long have you known, dumbass?" She rolled her eyes from across the table.

"Since the beginning of the school year." He huffed.

"This year?"

It was his turn to do the eye rolling. "No, seventh grade. Yes, this year!" He threw his hands up and she scoffed, folded her own around across her chest. "Maybe that was a little uncalled for."

"Really." She deadpanned.

"Oh, come on!" His hands were in the air again. "You have to believe me!"

"I do."

"What?"

"Believe you." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I do."

"Really?"

"It explains a lot."

"Like?"

"Where do I begin?" She took one of his curly fries out of his container. "Scott's periodic moodiness, the bullshit excuses and reasons you always come up with, the tapetum lucidum in Scott's eyes, and Derek Hale just screams _supernatural_ to me."

"I never said anything about-" Stiles started.

"You didn't have to." She cut him off quickly. "I'm not an idiot, you know." She added, looking at him pointedly.

Stiles chose to ignore that. "And what's the-"

"-Tapetum lucidum?" She finished for the teenage boy. "It's a layer in the retina that shines when you take a picture. Like red eye, but it exclusively occurs in animals - like canines and apparently werewolves, because those are a legitimate thing now, I guess."

Stiles thought about it for a moment. "When did you see any photos?" He asked, wondering how she was able to learn all of these things. He knew that Scott's eyes flashed in pictures, he just didn't know there was a specific name for it.

"When I was looking through Matt's camera the other day." She said simply, shrugging before taking another curly fry.

"What do you mean?" The Stilinski leaned across the table.

"There were a few shots of Scott in between all the creepy 'candids' of Allison."

Shit. Stiles thought as he ran a hand over his face. "I really wish you didn't have to find out like this." He sighed dejectedly. "Or at all." He closed his eyes.

"Please." She scoffed. "I would have found out either way." He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "I just wish I didn't have to find out on my own so late in the game. I could have helped you guys so much earlier." She took another curly fry. "And I would have had a better explanation for all the books you were checking out, too."

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. "Mine weren't that bad."

"Sure, if you take out the stuttering and the all around disbelief in your voice whenever you lie." She joked and Stiles was glad that they were getting back on track.

She laughed at him when he asked for help with his Chemistry problem set, but helped him later on anyway.

* * *

IV

Tonight was not a good night.

Beacon Hills was playing one of the toughest teams in their division - scratch that, in the _state_. And they seemed to be no match for the visiting team.

Stiles watched from the bench as yet another teammate got swiped off his feet by the largest high schooler the Stilinski has ever seen.

Seriously, this guy looked like he belonged with the statues on Easter Island or as a missing piece of Stonehenge. He was so fucking huge.

Coach Finstock called for a time-out and the team slowly stalked from the field and into a huddle around him. One player hobbled over next to Coach and tried to lean into the gathering, but almost toppled over from the unbalanced weight.

"Brewster, you're on bench the rest of the game." Coach announced as he helped shoulder the player's weight.

"I'm good to play, Coach."

"You're going cross-eyed." Coach rebutted. "Go take a seat."

He limped over to the empty seat next to Stiles.

"Bro, Nineteen is a legit beast." The guys ended up slurring out.

"I can see that." Stiles responded dryly, looking across the bench to see who would replace this kid. They all showed various amounts of potential but the questions is: would they-

"Stilinski!"

"Hm-wha-yeah, Coach?" Stiles snapped his attention to Finstock.

"Are you done making googly eyes at your teammates or would you like me to find someone to replace you replacing Brewster?" Coach snapped, bending down to Stiles' level.

"No, I can play."

"Then get your helmet on and get your ass out on the field!" Coach got up and faced the field, yelling the whole time - as per usual. Stiles bolted up, grabbed his helmet and stick, and almost sprinted to the line. He could have sworn that he made eye contact with Nineteen.

He really didn't want to be pummeled tonight.

He'd never play another lacrosse game ever again.

The whistle was blown and Stiles was off, weaving through players as he tried to get open for a pass.

And would you know it, he did - courtesy of Beacon Hills team captain and all around good guy, Scott McCall.

Stiles just stood there in shock. He had been passed the ball.

During a game.

And the crowd was cheering for him.

And someone was running up to congratulate him.

Number Nineteen.

Wait.

The crowd was yelling at him to go.

Because Nineteen was coming for him at a speed that shouldn't have been normal for a guy his build.

So the Stilinski boy ran.

Scott was right there next to him, blocking the opposing players left and right. The ones the werewolf couldn't get to, Stiles weaved between.

But then Nineteen was coming into his line of sight.

Stiles momentarily wondered how trees could move so quickly as he dodged another player.

Come to think of it, how has Stiles even been able to keep the small ball in his netting for so long?

Nineteen was getting closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Stiles didn't know whether he should be fearing for his life or not.

And then a miracle happened.

Somehow, Nineteen had slipped on the grass and was now lying on the ground.

He was the only thing between Stiles and the goal - other than the goalie.

So Stiles did what any other impulsive teenager pumped up with adrenaline would do.

He continued to run and leaped over the guy.

And then he launched the ball from his lacrosse stick with all his human power.

It was like a stillness had crept onto the field, silencing both the stands and players as everyone watched the ball as if in a slow motion replay.

Stiles heard the goalie's body hit the ground accompany the swish of the ball hitting the net.

He made the shot.

Beacon Hills got the point.

He made the shot.

Holy shit.

The Stilinski turned around in time to see the crowd in the stands cheering. His eyes glanced over his father throwing a fist in the air and Ms. McCall clapping to the girls jumping up and down on the metal bleachers. One of them was waving a poster in the air, reading, 'searched Google and still couldn't find any competition for 24'. He smiled up at that girl, knowing she'd see it.

He wanted to run up to the stands, pick her up, and spin her around. Maybe even kiss her for the first time.

But he had a game to finish.

The rest of the lacrosse game was a blur. From great passes to and from Stiles and Scott to impressing blocking form Danny, Beacon Hills was able to score five points and keep themselves in the lead.

Nineteen wasn't really a problem anymore.

Until the last thirty seconds of the game when he completely rammed into Greenberg.

But the ref wasn't calling it.

Greenberg hadn't been anywhere near the ball.

There was chanting and Stiles looked over to the stands where he could see the majority of the student section repeatedly moving their hands back and forth in front of them, as if each individual was pushing someone away. The chanting quickened and quickened until it finally muddled into one phrase. Stiles was pretty sure it was 'Bullshit' but Scott was quick to use his super werewolf hearing sense to argue that it was 'Push it' instead.

Stiles decided to give his friend the benefit of the doubt on that one.

Because he knew that was really happening from within the crowded student section.

Greenberg was helped up to his feet and gave Coach the 'all good' signal before making his way back to the line.

God, he really was crazy, wasn't he?

All Beacon Hills really had to do was keep possession away from the other team.

Easy, right?

Not with Nineteen in their way, tragically. He definitely was trying his best to get the ball.

Twenty.

They just needed to run out the clock.

Fifteen.

Scoring another point would be great, too, but Stiles wasn't going to push his luck.

Ten.

Weave in.

Five.

Weave out.

Four.

Let Scott do all the blocking.

Three.

Hope that Nineteen doesn't knock anyone unconscious.

Two.

Hope that Nineteen doesn't knock him unconscious.

One.

The horn went off, signalling the end of the game.

Stiles dropped his stick and threw his hands in the are, grinning in victory.

He turned around and his grin grew even wider as he saw the stands almost vibrating as the crowd whooped and hollered in excitement. Again, he let his eyes glance over everyone, but this time, his gaze stopped for one person.

 _Her_ .

There she was, her smile enough to power the whole stadium. She made eye contact with him and she opened her mouth - he could have sworn he could hear joyous laughter. He could only focus on that, like he had some kind of tunnel vision.

Next thing he knew, he had taken off his helmet and was closing in on her. Stiles reached the stands and just went up to her and kissed her like he had been wanting to since - like - forever.

He felt her stiffen under him in surprise - not like he could really blame her. He had absolutely no idea why he had decided to do this now. In public. With him all sweaty. And not a single romantic thing in sight.

But she was kissing him back.

Like for real.

He wasn't in one of those dreams he's been getting recently where they're fighting some kind of supernatural being and somehow end up in a bed frantically touching each other.

Yeah, so this obviously wasn't one of _those_ situations.

Her lips were warm against his and it felt amazing. Absolutely worth the wait. He would be okay with it never ending, to be honest. His hands moved to her waist as he felt hers travel up to his sweat dampened hair. He had to get her closer. Her hands were softly tugging on his dark hair and he had to fight back an embarrassingly loud moan.

He really didn't want this to end.

But he was brought to the real world when the sound of someone clearing their throat penetrated his mind.

He slightly pulled away from her before turning his head to tell whoever was interrupting them to kindly fuck off. What he saw was lydia shielding her face from the two with a large sheet of paper.

The poster.

 _His_ poster.

"So," Stiles turned back to her flushed cheeks - he did that - and bright smile - he'd take credit for that, too. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do." He returned the smile, his arms loosely around her waist. Her fingers lightly played with the hair at the back of his neck. He tried to suppress a very _manly_ shiver.

It didn't work out so well and she laughed at him.

"My bad." She said softly before reaching up to kiss him. He knew it was meant to be quick, but Stiles found himself holding on.

And he really didn't want to let go.

"Stilinski!" Coach yelled from somewhere behind him. "Get your ass over here!" The teenager in question looked back to the end of edge of the field where Coach Finstock and the rest of the team were waiting for him.

"I got to go." Stiles murmured, a smirk playing at his lips.

She returned it. "I bet you do."

"But I don't wanna." He whined.

She laughed, lightly pushing him away. "Just go. He looks like he's going to pop a blood vessel or something."

"And that's a problem because..." The Stilinski trailed off, not really seeing a problem with that situation.

"Just go." She smiled and leaned up to his ear. "I'll see you after." He felt her lips on his cheek and his eyes widened.

She backed away from him, that smirk of hers returning to those lips and he knew he was a goner. "No," He took a step back. "I-uh-I'll see you later." He stumbled backwards to his team.

He watched her laugh and spin back to a smiling Lydia before he himself turned to a smirking Coach Finstock.

"Nice going, Stilinski." Coach patted him on the back before blowing his whistle and leading the read of the team to the locker rooms.

Stiles stood there for a moment, still unable to fully comprehend all that he had just done. It seemed like it was all a dream.

It wasn't until Scott gripped his shoulder and guided him through the doors that Stiles came back to the real world.

Because why the hell would he be dreaming about Scott?

* * *

V

Stiles woke up to the sound of his alarm clock's incessant beeping. He blindly reached over and grabbed the machine, throwing it against the bedroom wall.

There was a groan against the side of his neck. "Remind me again why you felt the need to set an alarm?" Her voice vibrated against his skin.

"Because the graveyard shift officially ends in half an hour." And then his father would be home.

"So, you thinking about a morning after quickie?" She mumbled into his bare shoulder, snorting slightly.

That sounded great.

It really did.

But that's definitely not how he wanted to remember this morning.

He opened his eyes and looked at their sheet-covered bodies, legs entwined and arms wrapped around each other.

"Nah." He answered as casually as he could.

Which was hard considering the girl in his arms right now. The soft lighting shined on the two from the window as her head moved away from the crook of his neck and peered at him. Her hair shone in the morning light and her eyes were bright as they looked into his.

God, she was so beautiful.

"So, then what are we going to do?" She tilted her head into the pillow, her lips pulling into a brilliant smile.

"Well, for starters," Stiles started, tracing lines across her bare back under the sheet. "We could find out whose limbs are who's." She laughed at that.

He loved her laugh.

"That's you playing with my hair, right?" He asked, closing his eyes at the sensation of her fingers running through his probably very disheveled hair.

"Mhm." She giggled, but she didn't stop.

Not like he wanted her to, anyway.

"And your foot is sliding up my calf." He assumed as he felt it happening.

Her fingers stilled in his hair suddenly and he opened his eyes. "Nope." She frowned slightly. "That one's not on me."

"Okay..." He trailed off, trying to figure out what it was.

It was his own foot.

She bursted out laughing when he announced that, only to be quieted when his lips met hers.

"It's not that funny." He said petulantly as he pulled away.

But she just kept laughing.

"Fine, so it might be a little funny." He conceded as he chuckled along with her.

She leaned in and kissed him again, slightly tugging on the strands of his dark hair. He felt himself smile against her lips. Stiles heard her giggle as he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him.

"God, you're beautiful." He whispered.

"Is it because I'm naked and on top of you?" She asked after pulling slightly away from him.

"Of course not." He shot back, smirking up at her.

She returned his smirk. "You're not too bad there yourself, Stilinski."

"Is that because I'm naked and under you?" He asked.

"Oh, of course not." She rolled her eyes, but smiled before leaning back down to him.

It was perfect.

But then he heard a door slam shut from outside.

The Sheriff was home.

"Shit." The two teenagers said in unision. All good things had to come to an end - especially for Stiles, he guessed.

He groaned as she scrambled off him, slipping quickly off the bed and hastily grabbing her clothes.

"Hide in the closet!" Stiles suggested as she searched around for somewhere to hide.

"Really? He'll ask where I am." She looked at him expectantly. "My car's at the curb."

Shit. Stiles thought as his mind raced for another idea.

"I'll go to the bathroom." She proposed, starting to reach for the door. "You need to get dressed though." And then she slipped through the doorway.

Stiles frantically searched for his clothing. Clean underwear. Check. Jeans from the bedroom floor. Check. Shirt. Not check. Where was his shirt? All he could see was her sweater.

Fuck.

"Stiles, I'm home!" His dad called after the front door opened.

Fuckity fuck.

Stiles searched for something to throw on his back. He had started to pull a white t-shirt over his shoulders when his dad knocked and peaked inside.

"Stiles," The Sheriff started.

"Daddy-o!" Stiles cheered, throwing his arms up in the air. "Good morning!"

"Why are you yelling?" His father asked. "And why are you up so early?"

Stiles' mind chose this time - out of all other times - to come up with absolutely nothing in response.

"Because I was going to take him to breakfast." He heard her voice from behind his father in the hallway.

"Yeah," The Sheriff said, starting to turn around. "I thought I saw you car out there."

She stepped into the room and that was when he noticed what she was wearing. Everything should have been normal - except for the shirt that was tucked into her pleated skirt. That batman shirt was definitely his from the day before.

And her sweater was still discarded on his bedroom floor.

His dad did a double take on the shirt, conveniently giving Stiles enough time to grab the offending article of clothing off the floor. The teenager stuffed it behind his back just as his dad turned back to him.

"Breakfast?" The older man asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Yep!" Stiles stood up from his bed and moved to stand next to her. He passed her the sweater behind her back.

"Would you like to join us, Sheriff Stilinski?"She asked, taking her sweater from Stiles and hiding it behind her own back.

"No, no that's fine." The Sheriff declined. "I've got some sleep to catch up on anyway."

"Okay." She added, stepping out of the room.

"Alrighty dad, we'll see you later." Stiles said as he hastily pushed her out of his room. He was about to follow her down the hallway, but he was pulled back with a hand on his shirt.

"Stiles," That one word was laced with warning that made Stiles cringed internally. At least, he hoped it was on the inside.

"Hmm?" The teenager really tried to look innocent. He really did.

"Just tell me you used protection." His father sighed, a look of resigned acceptance on his face..

"Dad!" The Sheriff gave him an expectant look. "Yes, okay? Yes!"

"Good. I'm not ready to be a grandpa."

Stiles groaned."Fine. Can I go now?"

"Yeah, go on." Stiles walked down the hallway, telling himself to get his father something from the diner.

"Does he know?" She asked as he got into Roscoe.

"Yeah." He answered, putting his key in and turning on the old jeep. They started down the road towards their diner.

"Are you grounded?" She asked after a while, looking at him in concern.

"I don't think so." He looked over at her and smiled.

"Did he notice the shirt?"

Stiles barked out a laugh. "Definitely."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pulling at the t-shirt. "I can change if you want."

"Nah." He said as casually as he could. There was something about her wearing his shirt that twisted his stomach up into knots, but the good - no the great - kind of knots. What was he feeling? Pride, maybe. "You probably look better in it that I do."

"I don't know Stiles, it looked really good on you last night." And then she laughed. Stiles chuckled a little bit and looked over at her when they stopped at a light.

Fuck.

She was so beautiful.

And that pleated skirt.

 _Damn_.

* * *

 _AN: And it's finished. Disgruntled Harris and Derek's modge-podge pack from season 2 are my faves and that 'push it' chant was something my school used to do during football and basketball games when a poor call was made. For those of you who aren't familiar with the chant, you yell out 'Push It' repeatedly and as it gets faster it starts to sound like you're actually saying 'bullshit' instead. Good times._

 _So parts I and II take place in the first season - beginning, right? - part III during the second season and part IV and V in season 3A - although part V isn't a direct continuation of part IV, ya feel me?_

 _Now I might actually make myself study something... or nah._

 _Remember to Smile :)_  
 _~Becca_


End file.
